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“Taken away! Where?”

“To—to—‘I don’t know.’ ”

The mother smiled to herself as she left the room, and “Careless Harry” went
out to see if the rocking-horse and the others had returned home. [106]

[Contents]
 THE BANK CAT.

B ecause “Tent-Peg” on the Bogan isn’t on the map of Australia, it must

not be inferred that the little township does not exist. Indeed, any old
colonist who knows his way about will tell you that the place is in the
sister colony, and consists of one public-house, a blacksmith’s shop, a store,
a church (about the shape and size of a haystack), and a small branch bank.

The latter building presented nothing of the polish and artistic finish, or the
magnificence of many of our metropolitan banks, but it was one of the most
snug and cosy institutions in the whole country, within its walls. No doubt
Toney Buck, the messenger, was of the same opinion, as he sat dozing
before a warm coal fire, this severe winter night, with no other company than
a large black cat, of the male gender, for his companion.

Toney Buck was an orphan, aged twelve years, or thereabouts, and acted in
the dual rôle of servant to the manager and messenger to the [107]bank. The
boy slept on the premises, and the manager having gone to visit a
neighbouring squatter, his servant had been ordered to sit up until he
returned. There Toney sat in the manager’s armchair, bowing and nodding to
the fire, as if it had been some great fetish to whom he was paying homage.
Toney was a very practical lad. Nothing fanciful or dreamy ever bothered
Toney. Had the boy been otherwise, I’m afraid he wouldn’t have had anything
to do with the bank, because his employers were anything but poets or
visionaries, as some of my borrowing friends can testify. However, be this as
it may, every time our hero opened his heavy eyelids after each jerk forward,
he encountered the round, black, winking orbs of Tabby fixed full upon his
face, with a strange expression stamped thereon. Indeed, more than once
Toney felt certain that the cat actually laughed at him, and when discovered in
the act, instantly attempted to compose its features and wink at the fire in a
knowing way. It is not a very easy task for a sleepy boy, who feels as if his
eyelids were freighted with four-pound weights, to rouse himself and his
waking faculties all in a moment, but Toney managed to sit bolt upright after a
time and to stare at his companion. Toney fancied he could stare. So he
could [108]without a doubt; but the cat could and did stare harder than Toney.
Its eyes never moved, in their fixed look, from his face, yet he could see their
colour change from black to pale sea-green, and from green to grey, and then
turn flaming red as the fire. Toney feeling uncomfortable, removed his chair
farther back, muttering, “Oh, bother the cat!”

“Whirr. You’re another,” replied a voice instantly.

The messenger was in the act of sitting down again, but he gave a jump as if
a snake had bitten him. He looked first at Tabby, and then at the fire
bewildered, and said, “Who spoke?”

“I did,” replied the cat.

“Good gracious! Are you sure now?” inquired Toney, with the scales—or the
weights, rather—fallen from his eyeballs.

“I did say ‘You’re another’; and so you are. If you bother me I’ll bother you!”
replied Tabby, whisking his long tail.

“Oh, my! I never knew cats could talk, although I’ve heard their voices
sometimes, of a night, to some tune.”

“None of your sneers, Toney,” interrupted Tabby quickly. “There are more
wonderful things in Australia than a talking cat, and some noises to [109]which
our midnight concerts are as sweet music in comparison. Listen to me. The
bank will be robbed this very night. There!”

“Talking cat—the bank robbed. I—I hope I’m awake,” cried Toney, tugging at
his unkempt hair in astonishment.

“I hope you are, for there are those coming who will soon arouse you,” replied
the cat, jumping on the back of a chair, and erecting his back in the form of a
rainbow. “Hark! that noise is worse than our caterwauling. Hear them forcing
in the door of the front office.”

As the cat spoke there came upon their ears first a low grating noise, then
followed a sound as if the heavy door of the bank had been wrenched off its
hinges. “Lord help us! It’s the bushrangers, and master’s away. Oh! what
shall I do?” and the poor boy began to cry bitterly.
“Stop crying. Wait and see!” Tabby hadn’t time to say more, ere three men,
with masks upon their faces, and armed with revolvers, rushed into the room.

“Hallo! only a boy here. Where’s the manager?” inquired one of the robbers,
grasping Toney.

“He isn’t here, sir.”

“Come, none o’ that,” cried the man gruffly. [110]“Tell us where he is, or I’ll
shove you a-top of that fire.”

Toney looked at the fire, and then at the bushranger, and began to cry afresh.

“Where’s the manager?”

“Gone to Mr. Hilton’s, the station on the river.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, as certain as that you will be hanged.”

The man let go his hold of Toney instantly, and stared first at the cat and then
at the messenger, as if he was puzzled as to which had answered him. He
appeared to decide in favour of the boy, for he said hoarsely, “No cheek, my
fine kiddie, or I’ll roast you like a chicken. Bring the keys of the safe, quick.”

“Master has them in his pocket, sir.”

The robber swore a frightful oath, then held converse with his companions in
an undertone. After which they produced a cord, and having tied the lad hand
and foot, left him in the room with the cat, locked the door on the outside, and
proceeded to ransack the bank.

Poor Toney! What could he do against three armed men? The manager, his
master, had been very good to him. He was father and mother and brother
and sister all in one. What would he say when he returned and found the
place robbed—[111]the money gone? Hadn’t he entrusted all the gold, and
notes, and papers—worth thousands and thousands of pounds—into his
(Toney’s) custody, and here were villains breaking open these sacred coffers
with hammer and crowbar in ruthless plunder! In his trouble, he almost
wished the bushrangers would come in and roast him as they had promised
to do. Even that would be preferable to facing his kind master.

“Toney. Hi, Toney!” The boy jumped. He had forgotten all about the cat.

“You were always kind to me, Toney, and I’m going to help you now.”

“How can a cat help anybody?” replied poor Toney.

“Ah! but I wasn’t always a cat, Toney.”

“Oh, bother; I suppose you mean when you were a little kitten,” muttered the
boy.

“No, I don’t, Toney Buck. I never was a kitten. I mean when I was a happy
fairy in Elfland, before I was changed into a cat for being cruel and selfish.”

“Snooks!” answered Toney sceptically.

“Who?”

“Snooks! It won’t do, you know. There ain’t no fairies, nor moonland, and
such nonsense.”

“Supposing my shape were to change again, [112]here under your very nose;
would you believe what you saw?”

“Rather! but you can’t do it, puss.”

“Can’t I? You shall see,” replied Tabby. “Say: ‘Sevle naila rtsua’ very slowly.
Now!”

“ ‘Sevle naila rtsua,’ ” cried the boy in a brisk tone; but he had no sooner
uttered the words than the black cat vanished into thin air, and in its place he
beheld a wee, thin, elderly gentleman dressed in hunting costume, seated
astride the back of the chair, who bowed very politely and lifted his hat to the
astonished messenger.

“Well I never!” cried Toney. “Who are you, pray?”

“ ‘Sevle naila rtsua!’ ” replied the little man, laughing.

“What is ‘Sevle naila rtsua’?” demanded the boy.

“Read the letters backwards and join the first two syllables together.”

“Ah! A-u-s-t-r-a-l-i-a-n—E-l-v-e-s—Australian Elves, eh?”

“That’s it, Toney; I’m proud to be one of them, my boy. Now I’ll show you how
a cat can help you out of this scrape,” answered the wee man, with a smile
only to be seen on the face of a fairy. “I’m going out at that broken pane in
[113]the window there, straight to Dick Holmes’ stable, take out the
steeplechaser ‘Nightwind,’ ride as fast as he can go to the junction, return
with half-a-dozen troopers by a short cut, and secure these ruffians red-
handed with their booty.

“Hurrah!” cried Toney in his enthusiasm.

“Hush, boy. Not so loud,” said the elfin; “they may hear you. I must away on
my errand quickly; yet mind, Toney, if you don’t see the bank cat here again,
I’m always to be found on the banks of the Bogan. Keep good heart. Good-
bye.”

With a hop, skip, and a jump the wee man was through the broken pane and
astride the horse “Nightwind” before the boy could realise that he was alone.

Meanwhile the strong-room of the bank resounded with the heavy blows dealt
by the robbers upon the solid doors of the iron safe, which for a long time
withstood their utmost attempts to break it open. Poor Toney sat in fear and
trembling, and counted the minutes as they fled by, listening to the noises
without, and wondering if the little elfin man would really do what he
promised. It seemed hardly possible that he could sit a horse at all, much less
guide the crack steeplechaser “Nightwind” across country [114]on a dark night.
Nevertheless, the confident tone of the fairy before he jumped out at the
window reassured him, and hope began to gather in Toney the messenger.

Alas! that hope was dispelled the next moment by a loud shout from the
bushrangers, which proclaimed that the safe had yielded. Had the robbers
been less intent upon the bags of gold and silver which met their gaze, it is
probable they would have seen the half-dozen police-troopers who entered,
carbine in hand, and surrounded them. When the ruffians did see them,
however, it was too late to resist, and they were taken away out into the
darkened night, some of them never to see the light of the sun again as free
men.

At the trial of the bushrangers the police couldn’t swear who gave the
information about the bank, and I believe it remains a mystery to this day. [115]

[Contents]
 GUMTREE HOLLOW.

L ike “Ben Bolt’s” mill, Allan’s farm, situated by the River Torrens, had
gone to decay and ruin. It was a flourishing place before the death of
Peter Allan, but the farmer had been taken away, and his widow and
her three children had to fight out the battle of life unaided. The property had
been heavily mortgaged three years previously, and, what with unfavourable
seasons and other misfortunes, the widow Allan had not been able to repay
principal or interest of the money borrowed, and the creditors therefore gave
the farmer’s wife notice to quit.

Fortunately, Mrs. Allan had a brother who had gone to some diggings in New
South Wales, and had left in charge of his sister an old hut and a patch of
land known as Gumtree Hollow. In the emergency the widow determined to
occupy the place until she could find a more suitable home. The Hollow
consisted of about two acres of crags and stones, without sufficient soil to
grow [116]a potato in, and was distant from the farm about five miles.

On a warm afternoon, three days after the widow had received notice to leave
the homestead, little Charlie Allan, the eldest boy, aged twelve, started to the
hut at Gumtree Hollow with his mother’s goods and chattels in the spring-cart.
It had been arranged that after delivering his load the lad should return for his
parent and his brother and sister. Charlie was intelligent and very kind-
hearted. He had noticed his mother crying bitterly, and he had followed her
into a back room where his father had died, and there putting his little arms
about her neck he had tried to soothe her with many assurances that when
he became a man he would work for her and buy the place back again.

Old Bob, the pony, didn’t like the road to the hut, but repeatedly turned to
retrace his steps every half-mile or so of the journey. Nevertheless, Charlie
managed to get him there at last.

In a ravine between a natural cutting of jagged crags stood the old building,
overshadowed by a gigantic tree whose wide-open trunk, hollow as a bell,
had often afforded shelter to straggling picnic parties. It was a grand, old,
hoary gum, knobbed and gnarled with age, and whose spreading
[117]branches formed a canopy over the dilapidated hut. One long, fork-like
branch projected farther over than the rest, on the extreme end of which
something perched, swaying the bough to and fro with an easy motion.
Charlie, thinking it was a parrot, took up a stone for a shot; but he dropped
the stone again instantly, as a voice from the tree uttered a shrill peal of
laughter.

The poor lad’s first thought was to take to his heels and run for it; but the
voice called out in a kindly tone, “Hallo! Charlie ’avic, how are ye, Charlie
Allan?”

The boy gazed upward in amazement, and beheld a wee, teeny, queer fellow,
hardly six inches high, sitting astride the branch, and gazing down with a
knowing look at him. The creature’s dress was green; from his shapely shoes
to his brimless hat, swallow-tailed coat, breeches, stockings, all were the
verdant green colour.

“Who are you?” questioned Charlie, recovering from his surprise.

“Shure I’m an Irishman,” cried the little fellow, at the same time springing to
the ground. “A rale paddy, an’ I may tell you that there isn’t a fay or a gnome
in South Australia that I can’t leap or swim wid; do’s thee hear that, ’avic?”

He was such a dwarfed miniature of a man, [118]and appeared such an

impudent swaggerer—with his chimney-pot hat on one side of his head, and
his saucy turned-up nose—that Charlie felt inclined to pick him up and cuff
him soundly.

“What is your name?” asked the boy, making a sudden dive at the creature.

“McKombo,” answered the sprite, dodging under Charlie’s legs. “My name is
McKombo; but be aisy wid ye now, an’ don’t be after trying to take a mane
advantage of me.”

“I’d scorn to do it,” said Charlie, unconsciously clenching his fists. “Who are
you; what are you; and what do you want?”

“Be aisy, Charlie. Arrah’, don’t be botherin’ me wid too many questions,” said
McKombo. “I’ve tould ye I’m an Irishman. Captain Brophy imported me to the
colony in a hat-box twenty years ago.”

“Why, you’re a fairy,” suggested the lad, eyeing his strange companion
askance.

“Of course I am,” replied McKombo, “and I may tell you I’ve been waiting all
this blessed day to see you.”

“To see me?”

“Thrue for ye, Charlie. I am very well acquainted wid all the bother an’ trouble
that’s going on at the farm, an’ I mane to help your mother clane out of it.”
[119]

Poor Charlie felt as if he could have hugged McKombo, but the sprite kept his
distance and said quietly, “You haven’t such a thing as a spade and a pick
among the things in the cart?”

“ ‘HURRAH!’ HE CRIED, TOSSING UP HIS HAT.”

Charlie had, though. Both the pick and the spade he had used many a time at
the farm, and he produced them at once; but he looked doubtfully at
McKombo as to what he was to do with them or how they could be the means
of assisting his mother in her difficulties. It seemed very business-like,
however, the way the sprite led Charlie to the hollow trunk of the great gum-
tree, and [120]commanded him to dig within a certain circle he at once marked
out. The goblin’s promises of certain and speedy benefit gave the boy faith
and energy to dig and delve away with might and main until there gaped a
large hole within the trunk, which revealed some of the thick roots beneath,
also the top of a square tin box, such as lawyers keep their deeds in. The
moment McKombo caught sight of the box he began to caper about the
sward in antic glee.

“Hurrah!” he cried, tossing up his hat. “There it is, me boy, safe an’ sound, as
on the night I saw them murthering scoundrels place it there twenty years
ago.”

Poor Charlie stared at the fairy, and wiped the perspiration from his heated
face, but he could not comprehend what his companion meant. Acting under
McKombo’s directions, young Allan made a lever and got the box out of its
bed. It did not appear large, but it was very heavy—so heavy that the boy
could hardly lift it; the thick coating of paint on it had preserved it from rusting
and decay, and it was fastened with an iron padlock. With one blow of his
spade Charlie broke open the lid, when—lo! he saw a heap of dark yellow
sovereigns and several parcels of bank-notes within. The sight made him
faint and [121]giddy with surprise and delight, so that he could not utter a word.

“Look there, now. See that,” ejaculated the sprite, pointing to the treasure.
“One evening, twenty years ago, three men brought that box here and hid it
beneath the trunk of this old gum-tree; they went away, but never returned for
it. In time a poor woodcutter built his hut beneath the great tree, and I
watched him come and go to his daily toil, until he could toil no more and they
carried him forth and buried him on the river-bank. Then came your Uncle
George, my boy, who purchased the place for ten pounds; but had he known
of the riches under his very nose, I’ll go bail he wouldn’t have gone away to
dig for gold.”

“Why didn’t you tell Uncle George about this money?” asked Charlie.
“Bekase he would have spent it recklessly, honey, that’s why. Money ill-spent
or misapplied is a great evil. Put the box on the cart wid the things, and return
to your mother. Off wid ye, boy, at onst.”

“Won’t you come with me?” pleaded Charlie.

“I can’t, ’avic, I’m going to a christening at McFadden’s in the Glen. Away ye

go. Good-bye.” Saying which, McKombo vanished from his sight. [122]

Widow Allan was very much astonished when Charlie returned and told his
story, but her surprise was still greater when she saw the box of hard cash.
She counted the money, which amounted to over three thousand pounds
sterling; after which she fastened the box again, and wrote a letter to the
manager of a certain bank in Sydney, and to which most of the notes
belonged.

In due course the bank sent a representative to Allan’s farm, who informed
the widow that the bank had been robbed of over three thousand pounds one
night in June twenty years ago, and which had never been recovered. The
bank agent departed with the money, but he left the poor but honest widow a
cheque for £500—a sum which not only paid off the liability upon her farm,
but enabled her to put something by for a rainy day and for Charlie when he
came of age. [123]
[Contents]
 WHISKERKISS.

[Contents]

CHAPTER I.

THE MYSTERIOUS JOURNEY.

I n the heart of the far Australian wild—away from traces of civilisation, and
beyond the hope of help, a brave youth, faint with travel and with hunger,
reclines completely exhausted by the bank of a broad river. He is the last
of a band of nine who have attempted to explore the central portion of our
vast continent, where on the Atlas we read, written right across the great
blank, Unexplored. All his companions have perished of want and thirst, and
Roland Trent, although he has reached water, and has quenched his burning
thirst, feels that he also must follow his comrades ere long. He is very weak
and so fatigued that he cannot stand; but he can see the flowing stream and
the sunlit landscape, which anon becomes o’erclouded in his vicinity by the
shadow of some moving object between him and the river. What could it be?
[124]

The explorer looked up in wonder, and beheld a small and very ugly old man
standing and grinning at him. The creature was most outrageously grotesque
in form—having, by some freak of nature, the body of a child with the head of
a giant. No one, not even Mr. Punch, could boast a finer hump than protruded
from between the shoulders of the intruder. From out a circular hole in his
jerkin the hump rose bare, behind the big round skull, like a sugar loaf. He
had small eyes, but they were infinitely more terrible than all his other
deformity put together; at one moment they glowed with a phosphorescent
sheen, which changed again to a vivid purple light, and from that to diamond
flashes, without the closing of an eyelid.

“Ho! Ho! Who is more powerful than fire, stronger then the wind, and deeper
than the streams? Whiskerkiss—I am he.”
The voice of the old fellow was dreadful, and echoed with a sullen roar like
the growl of a lion, “I am Whiskerkiss, King of the Mountain Barrier, and Lord
of Birds and Beasts. Who art thou?”

The lips of the fainting youth answered, “An unfortunate explorer.”

“Ha! Ha!” laughed the grim sprite in mimicry. “Thou puny mortal! Thou an
explorer! Why, [125]thy poor breath is nearly spent, ere thou hast reached the
threshold of the great Unknown. Ho! Ho!”

Roland Trent shuddered.

“Wouldst thou see the wonders of this vast division of the globe? Come with
Whiskerkiss, and he will show thee fertile lands, great lakes, and powerful
nations in this unexplored interior. Come! here is my boat, and Starmoon, my
slave, lashes the stream impatiently.”

As the dwarf spoke, he lifted Roland in his arms and placed him in a skiff
upon the river, which immediately shot along the watery way with the speed
of an express train. It was some time before Roland Trent recovered from the
half unconscious state in which he had been conveyed to the boat; by-and-
by, however, his vision became more clear, and he saw a sight he had never
seen before. The skiff was nothing but a frail canoe, at the stern of which
stood Whiskerkiss steering; but in front, a great, strange fish was harnessed
to the bow, and plunging through the stream with immense velocity.

No pearl diver ever encountered such a quaint-looking denizen of the deep,

as Starmoon the goblin fish of Whiskerkiss. It was in shape like an alligator,
only its legs were as those of a grasshopper, [126]which it used in place of fins
while swimming. Fully twenty feet in length, it had a body as thick as a
bullock, and a long spike projecting out of the top of its head. The face of the
monster was hideous to behold—the rolling eyes, dreadful mouth, filled with a
row of sharp, glistening teeth, and above all, it appeared to jibber, and make
faces at our hero, as he looked at it in its swift course.

And now the river widened into a deep black gulf, and the shore receded from
their gaze; not a ripple broke over the sullen surface, for the waters were like
thick oil. Dark objects, in rapid motion, darted along like dolphins, and played
leap-frog over the skiff. Roland Trent put his hand over the side; to his
astonishment the water felt quite hot. He dipped a little up in the hollow of his
palm, and tasted it. Pah! It was not salt, nor fresh, but worse than either, as it
instantly produced a horrible nauseous feeling in him akin to stupor.

Onward went Starmoon at increased speed, urged by his master

Whiskerkiss, until Roland beheld a great mountain range in the distance,
which they rapidly approached. Abrupt and perpendicular, the summit of
these high hills was lost in the clouds. The canoe sped onwards, and [127]it
seemed as if the frail barque would be dashed to atoms against their rugged
sides. Daylight faded away as they drew near, and a distant roaring noise
shook the sluggish waters. Were they hurrying to some fatal mäelstrom, or
going headlong into some tremendous cavity in the bowels of the mountains?
Roland’s spirit quailed within him at the thought. In the dim twilight, he saw
the boat had entered an enormous cavern, where a dense wall of black rock,
or rather boulders, were piled in wild disorder one above the other, and
terminating in a flat roof of the same description.

“Ho, ho! I am Whiskerkiss, King of Woods and Stream,” and the voice of the
steersman awoke the slumbering echoes of the dreary place with ten
thousand vibrations.

“Who sails through rocks and hills, and guides the torrent in its course? I,
Whiskerkiss. Ho! Starmoon. Ho! my slave, delve, delve!”

Gradually the darkness became more opaque around them. Roland cast
himself down at the bottom of the canoe, and awaited his fate. He closed his
eyes in horror at the vision of that dread abyss.

The time passed on, and still the same ghastly darkness prevailed. Our hero
knew not whether [128]it was night or day, or how many hours had passed
since they had entered that dreadful passage under the mountain. From a
sort of torpor into which he had fallen Roland was at length aroused by a
touch on his cheek. It was not the touch which animated him so quickly, but
the intensely pleasing sensation which it caused. Like that warm, thrilling
emotion caused by the infusion of laughing gas, Roland felt a vigorous glow
pervade his whole frame in an instant. He opened his eyes, but the bright
rush of the noon-day light which burst unexpectedly upon his sight completely
blinded him.

He shaded his eyes at first, until he should become accustomed to the glare.
When at length he looked up, lo! where were Starmoon and Whiskerkiss, and
the black unclean waters of the murky cavern below the mountains? Gone!
With his hearing more acute, his sight much keener, and with every other
faculty braced and quickened, the explorer found himself the occupant of a
beautiful boat canopied with gold and silver network of rare design and
workmanship. The sides and bottom of the skiff were inlaid with mother-of-
pearl, while a large outspread fan, at the stern, of the same material, gave the
resemblance of a gorgeous peacock floating on a silver [129]stream. A dozen
creatures, dazzlingly fair, and dressed superbly, propelled the boat with ivory
paddles; while one who appeared robed in roseate splendour stood at his
side, and pointed out to him a glorious country.

Yonder shone an immense valley, shut in by Alpine hills, of a deep, rich

green, spangled with flowers. Birds of every hue and shade flitted from tree to
tree, and filled the air with melody. At the foot of the hills a clear lake sparkled
in the sunlight, and beyond the lake rose the towers, peaks, and domes of a
beautiful city of white marble, which flashed back the sun’s rays in a million
shafts of different coloured lights. The magnificence of this scene grew each
moment yet more glowing and brilliant as Roland Trent gazed. Soon there
smote upon his ear most ravishing sounds—sounds that seemed as the tinkle
of silver bells, mingled with the soft murmurs of the Æolian harp. To his
astonishment Roland discovered the melody proceeded from his
companions, who were conversing with each other, and in his own language.
Next to the gratification of finding himself in such an enchanting region, the
explorer was delighted to find these people could understand and converse
with him. [130]

“Gentlemen,” said he, bowing politely, “will you have the goodness to tell me
what country this is I now gaze upon for the first time?”

The rowers ceased rowing at the sound of his voice, and the nearest to him
answered,—
“O! adored mortal, we are thy slaves. This is the kingdom of Bo-Peep, and is
called Dreamland. No feet of soul-lit mortal hath ever trodden our soil before.
Hail to thee! immortal one!”

“Are you the King of this fair land?” inquired our hero.

“Nay, I am but his Majesty’s messenger—my name is Pop-Corn. What shall

we call thee?”

“Roland, the Explorer.”

“Welcome, then, to our shores. Thou shalt see Bo-Peep and his daughter
Princess Golden Hair.”

The rowers resumed their paddles, and the fairy boat shot down the shining
stream into the lovely sheen of the lake by the marble city.

Moments in Dreamland are as days with us. Therefore it will take a week of
our time to prepare the charming Princess Golden Hair to receive our hero.
Next Saturday the bold explorer shall be ushered into her presence at the
Court of Bo-Peep. [131]

[Contents]

CHAPTER II.

PRINCESS GOLDEN HAIR.

The metropolis of Dreamland presented a most glorious spectacle of

magnificence and beauty to the wondering eyes of Roland Trent, as the fairy
boat glided into the lake near the city. Beneath a fine marble colonnade,
supported by pillars of jasper, he beheld a crowd of people, composed chiefly
of Ministers of State and the nobles of the King, standing ready to give him
welcome, while beyond these dignitaries a great square was filled with his
Majesty’s Guards, armed cap-à-pié in silver armour, and surrounded by lithe,
gay figures, who flitted to and fro like gorgeous butterflies in the sunlight.
The Australian youth was amazed at the dazzling beauty of the ladies, who
gathered round him as he landed, with loud cries. Some of them even went
so far out of the rule of good breeding and etiquette in their reception as to
embrace and almost smother him with kisses. But there are no Mrs. Grundys
in Elfland, and so the dames enjoyed themselves with the freedom and the
innocence of children. With waving banners and bands of music, which
sounded to his ears like so many tinkling musical boxes, our hero was
[132]escorted by a troop of silver-clad Guards to the palace of Bo-Peep.
Grander than anything that ever entered the mind of that famous architect, Sir
Christopher Wren, rose the glittering domes and lofty peaks of the fairy King’s
palace. Through a labyrinth of budding roses perfuming the air around; by
gold and silver fountains in full play, and whose soft cadence fell upon the ear
like angels’ whispers; beneath a natural arch of mighty trees, every one of
which held a thronged choir of winged choristers warbling forth a jubilee; and
onward, amid glories and beauties unknown to the hosts of the waking world,
into the presence of Bo-Peep. No comparison in this sea-bordered city would
help to convey the faintest conception of the pomp and splendour of the
King’s reception-hall. Nature and Art had here combined, and the blended
effect was sublime. Not the array of nobles nor the throng of superbly
dressed ladies, through whom he passed, nay, not even the throne itself,
ablaze with jewels and precious stones, which circled in the elfin monarch as
the ring of a magic lantern, had any attraction for the young stranger. His
eyes had fallen upon a young creature of enchanting loveliness at the King’s
side, and he had become spellbound thereby. [133]

Poet or painter never dreamed of such a vision of beauty. Not the sunset
glow had a richer tint than the long glossy hair of Bo-Peep’s only daughter.
She was named “Princess Golden Hair”; and well did she merit the name, for
it was the most glorious golden hair that mortal eye had ever seen. So
Roland Trent thought as he was led forward and seated by her side.

Here where the laws of Nature (as we recognise them) are altered and
suspended, the Princess and the mortal wanderer became enamoured of
each other instantly.

Oh! the power, the irresistible charm of love! How it glowed in the eyes of
Princess Golden Hair, and made the bewitching face yet more charming! Like
the clear notes of a flute, only infinitely softer and more thrilling, her voice
came upon his ears: “Welcome, oh, my Prince—lord of my being!—welcome
to Dreamland!”

What mattered the cheers of the people and the great speech from the fairy
King, and the grand banquet that followed—what mattered the thousand
surprises and the wonderful things that encountered him at every turn? There
was no fascination like the lovely Princess.

Glorious light and sunshine reigned here eternally. Roland watched in vain for
the [134]approach of eve and darkness; but gloom came not. It was one never-
ceasing day.

By order of Bo-Peep, our hero was attired in rich robes softer than silken
velvet, which emitted a rose-coloured glow, mingled with a delicious perfume,
that by some mysterious power gave him a keener zest for pleasure and
enjoyment. Go where he would, the King’s daughter was ever at his side.

“SEATED BENEATH A CANOPY OF ROSES.”